


Strength, as told by Iwaizumi

by fishsoo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Post-Match, angsty, aobajousai team mentioned in passing, not very angsty tho, the final one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 22:17:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14703573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishsoo/pseuds/fishsoo
Summary: Here, at the edge of the world, is where he leaves everything behind.





	Strength, as told by Iwaizumi

Strength, Hajime tells Daichi, is the way Karasuno makes every team want to play their best. It’s the last rounds of the ticking clock hands and the screams that start to fill up the golden hall. He remembers the calls and echoes that get louder and louder, raspy around the edges, wet with the falling rains of desperation, his own voice- the strength behind each impact to the ball, each ripple in the ground, in the arc of the blurry sphere with colours brighter than any victory. They’ve played well, he thinks, both his team and theirs, and it’s the kind of loss that has you blinking awake at the ceiling fan with a gut full of pain and no tears in your eyes.

( You guys bring everyone else up with you, he says at the end, short fingers grasping at the air long after they’ve tasted their loss. And Daichi only smiles, holds Hajime’s hands in his own, and replies, we’ll win the Nationals for you. )

 

* * *

 

Strength, Hajime tells Moniwa, is the way Dateko barely makes it but still keeps going on. It’s the silence on their court and the steadfast stance of their blockers, and the tremour in the air as their feet land heavy onto linoleum floor. It’s the shadows falling across their faces that are outshined by their eyes, and the outstretched hands, waiting, for an attack they will search for no matter the circumstance. And it’s how the entire stadium seems to fill up with their presence, because their cheer is good, the team is good, and they’re loud, brazen, proud. It’s the trust, Hajime thinks, not just between the captain and his players, but the entire school as a whole, and the bits of the Iron Wall.

( Your new captain is very clumsy, Hajime laughs, but he’ll make it. He sees it, the breathing of his friends mixing together, the promise tangled in reddened palms. Moniwa is crying again, his giggles stained with tears. Yes, he breathes, Dateko will be strong again. )

 

* * *

 

 

Strength, Hajime tells Yuuji, is the way Johzenji’s name reverberates in the memories of people, and their laughter that permeates the tension rolling out over the court. It’s the clouds of golden dust and silver ashes that they bring behind their footsteps, and their voices rising high over the stratosphere. They don’t yield, he realises, and they’re even clumsier when they try too hard, but the important thing is that they don’t yield, no matter what happens. They’re loose cannons in a field with no trajectory path. It works both ways, like a double edged sword, and their disregard makes Hajime just a little bit terrified.

( What will you do when volleyball’s no longer fun? Hajime asks. Terushima rolls his tongue piercing in his mouth, grinning widely over the noise in the hall. Volleyball? No Fun? That notion is rewarded with a laugh. Nonsense, he says, flaxen hair glowing in the sun. We will make it fun again. )

 

* * *

 

 

Strength, Hajime tells Wakatoshi, is the way their strides can never match, how one will always be longer than the other but they’re always in a pack. It’s in the power behind their cheerleaders’ voices, the net of their fingers, the way the brightest star doesn’t blot out the rest of the dazzling night sky. They are the definition of ‘strength’, he realises, when he sees the complicated tapestry they weave that far beats the rest of the world, that gives them the exclusive right to be dastardly confident and self-assured and walk with their heads held high. And it’s /him/, he tells Wakatoshi, a finger in his chest, that is the team’s strength, the bumbling idiot with dysfunctional bits that held the team together, that held his heart in his throat that at the very end, Hajime couldn’t become a better ace than he.

( Oikawa should have gone to Shiratorizawa, Hajime blurts suddenly. Ushijima looks up from his feet, and Hajime’s gaze says nothing, his eyebrows less knitted than they usually are. Would he have been able to go so much farther? Yes, perhaps, Ushijima answers in a low rumble. But a tenacious sprout will grow into a great tree, no matter where it chooses to flourish. )

 

* * *

 

 

Strength, Hajime thinks, is the name of his team; the name of Hanamaki’s glare, of Matsukawa’s watchful gaze, of Kyoutani’s fervour, of Yahaba’s effort. It's the name of Irihata's patience and Mizoguchi's faith, and the seconds Mizoguchi's girlfriend had to spend alone, waiting for her lover to come back to her. It's the name of Watari's steadfastness and Kunimi's sharp eyes and Kindaichi's ever present nerves that he forces himself to overcome, and the burning passion, the burning passion that thrums so strong in the soles of their shoes and the creases of their palms. And it's the name of the mat in the hall that's known so many of their knees and their sweat and blood and tears, the walls that held in so many of their shouts and cheers, their cries, their time spent molding into each other.

It's the name of January and February and March and April and May all the way to December, the name of their determination, the name of the weight of a promise blasted into the ceiling, the name of the webs spun between them as they stepped forward to take the last match they would ever play together. It’s the name of his team that worked so hard but never came through in the end; the name of the underdog that lost to another underdog that had two shining talents in their midst. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough, even though they’d worked their asses off, even though they had everything they needed to stand on the National stage.

And so he cried; for Matsukawa’s dedication, for Hanamaki’s laughter, for Oikawa’s hard work, insecurities, damaged knee, and for the last official set given with all that his heart carried to him.


End file.
